Conversation

The Main Reason

The main reason I’m not an alcoholic is I’m too negligent, even with my drinks. I’m all like “oh” whenever I come across a drink that I poured and misplaced days ago and forgot to finish. This too is another reason it’s probably good I don’t have kids. I’d be all “whoops” and “shit” whenever I saw one of them languishing somewhere and was reminded I ever had them. Plus I’d likely never remember their motherfucking birthdays or even their goddamned names. If they were dogs though I’d remember everything. There’s just something about dogs that effortlessly captures the whole of my heart and my attention. I think about them even when there’s none around and when I see one, I fall into fits of baby talk and playfulness and coochy cooing delights, regardless of who they belong to, what they look like, and the fact that they’re not mine. Dogs. I wonder why I love them so much.

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Conversation

Secretly Texan

Whiling my life away at Dallas International Airport killing time at a restaurant bar and waiting for a flight that’s three hours delayed. On the wall is a large framed portrait of J.R. Ewing. This amuses me because a) this is a reality and b) I recognize him. I guess though that’s what happens when one of your nighttime soap opera reruns addicted stepmothers used the television in your formative years as a stand-in for parenting. Thank God for my previous television-as-parent care provider then. His viewing menu consisted solely of watching and rewatching all the greatest goals and moments of World Cup matches and exclaiming and explaining to me the essence of the greatness even though his passion-voiced wide-eyed gibberish meant likely to me not hugely a lot as I was by that point little more than teething. Said other parent also had a relentless viewing interest in the Japanese animation classic Akira, touchingly terrible Thai horror efforts and every deathless beautiful film that Bruce Lee ever graced and starred in. But back to J.R., interestingly, earlier, a friend managed to tap into the “secretly Texan” vibe apparently woven into the very fabric of my nature and being. Let’s hope Maradona, Der Kaiser, Platini, Messi, The Black Panther and Bruce Lee managed to save the rest and best of me.

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Conversation

I Thought Being

I thought being on a bus and on the road with Husband would be kind of grueling and gnarly but actually it’s been very snazzy and a lot of fun. The best thing though is that we’re together and curling up tightly nightly in our Japanese capsule hotel like bunk is all cuteness and love. Spooning is mandatory for it to work. Shows have been unignorably interesting, the bass every time Excision takes the stage is so staggering and excessive, it startles and deranges my whole body and my mind every time. “I have never heard bass this loud before ever in my life” is something you hear spoken between persons at shows at least ten times. The others on the tour are good young men, entertaining and sweet each in their singular ways, everything so far has been really great. Except last night. One of the Dirty Phonics boys slipped and smashed his teeth in. Spent the rest of the evening in Emergency and will need some fairly serious dental surgery. Very unfortunate, no matter how sort of rock n roll and badass the broken teeth look. Now it’s sunny and hot and a brand new day, we’re at an amazing vegan organic place eating incredible food, this town we’re in is subtitled the San Francisco of the South and it shows. Tastes delicious, good fuel for further and more. See you out there.

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Conversation

My Heart Beats Anew

Fortunate

We just enjoyed a nice Chinese vegetarian lunch at a well-reviewed place. Properly fed and sufficiently satisfied, I opened my fortune cookie and there was no fortune inside! How unfortunate! I was so stricken the kind owner came running at me with a little plate teeming with much more fortunate cookies. After reading a couple confections containing cordial comforts and reassuring remarks, I relaxed. My heart beats anew.

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But What is Art

But What is Art

What my hair was like in 2004. Yes that’s a thousand million long black cables and wires and headphones and cords which didn’t nightly make for the world’s most untroubled sleeping. Truthfully it was like snuggling my head into a plane crash and having many jagged metal parts poke into my brain. Think the look besides being pretty original and totally cool was meant to let everyone know how committed I was to technology and to sound, and how uniquely in love I was with The Music. I’ve no idea how long I made this look work. Surely the unbelievably terrible sleeps I enjoyed during that time put finally a stop to things. Kids right. But what is art if you don’t suffer for it a little bit.

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No Matter What

Wifi should be free and jackable everywhere. Cell phones should have consistent reception and be the same rate for use no matter where you are. Bags, purses, suitcases and shoulder bags should be well-designed, attractive and comfortable. Public bathrooms should be Godlike in spotlessness. People should smile only when they mean it. Shoes should stay dry no matter what. Religion shouldn’t fuck people’s brains up, music should be memorable, art should be transcendent, friends should be fantastic, love should be luminous, life should not be hard!

This is from a spastic email I hectically wrote to Dylan, once I could find some wifi that would successfully properly allow me by international use of my mobile phone to finally freely send it. Everything now is fine, for those of you who were “worried.” For everyone else, shit still sucks. Kidding. Life is awesome, no motherfucking matter what.

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Not For Boys

During the physical activity section of our day yesterday, I ran very hard with great skillfulness and speed along our route with many hills to prove to ill.Gates and Bassnectar how strong and fast and awesome I am. I left everyone smoothly in the dust but managed also to fairly seriously fuck up the muscles in my calves. Now I’m hobbling around the house like a 90 year old cripple feeling quietly sorry for myself. Moral of the story: Ladies. Don’t show off. Especially not for boys.

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I Need You to be Happy

Happiness

“Okay so he’s always late, often ignores you, is sometimes mean to you, doesn’t explain himself, doesn’t put the seat down, doesn’t take his shoes off when he enters your home and his towels don’t at all smell good. My only suggestion is that you flee.”

“But I really like him.”

“Too bad.”

“What if I love him?”

“You don’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“You don’t.”

“He texted me a picture of his cock.”

“So how was it.”

“Gorgeous.”

“You won’t think it’s so gorgeous when you’re falling into the toilet the next time you pee. Or when you think about the towels he uses when it’s penis cleaning time. If his daily schedule includes such a delicately particular designated time.”

“Why are you being so hard. Don’t you like him?”

“I don’t know him so I can’t say.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Look babe. Either listen to me or don’t. Just don’t come running to me later drenched in tears only to tell me I was right. I don’ t need to be right, I need you to be happy. And I need not to have to repeat myself with every next Meager Possibility Man. Not that I mind even though I kinda do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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If There Was an Emoticon

Your use of epithet strongly suggests that you missed your calling as a motivational speaker.

I’ve missed many callings. Instead I warm my ass with pensive luxuriousness lying around on my belly on a deck divan in the sunshine drinking mimosas, reading books and texting. And cursing iPads for forcing me back into infancy with plodding and ineffectual experiences like two-fingered typing.

Such a rough existence you lead… just another Californiasian trophy wife on slow roast in the oven of life.

If there was an emoticon for ‘Fuck you’ I’d send it.

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Funeral

Sleep

Alice said there were a lot of people at the funeral, too many to count. “Jeez,” I said to Dylan, “probably like 2 people would come to my funeral. Even you, you’d make a big stink. Sigh and complain, grumble about having to drag yourself away from the studio.” Dylan, his eyes dim with weed, softly chuckled. Then he said, “That’s not true. I’d be devastated.” And we laughed about how at Dylan’s funeral, all these young aspiring producers would gather around the coffin making it rain demo cds, the minister would be replaced by a couple of listless go-go dancers and a belligerent MC.

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Shit is Awesome

Have been on the deck all afternoon working on my website, reading Swann’s Way, chatting with Dylan and traversing jauntily the length of my sun-drowned backyard universe with oversize white plush bunny slippers upon my feet, big black sunglasses upon my face and I’m wearing a unitard. Needless to say, shit is awesome.

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